


Liquid Confidence

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, except very lacking in comfort, overuse of italic font option
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hate you,” she whispers, and he glances up. Satsuki’s said it before, plenty of times, as they shout at each other and go about their daily, petty battles. But this time – it sits differently, the way her voice hangs low and dangerous, the way she looks almost perplexed by the revelation herself. As if, this time, she really does hate him, and is only just now discovering that for herself. That writhing knot in his gut dislodges and punches its way to his throat, effectively suffocates him, deems him speechless. He’s looking at her, and she looks at him, dead in the eye.</p><p>“I hate you,” Satsuki says again, and he’s nearly positive that she means it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written in ages and ive never written these two before and on top of that i wrote this whole chapter and then just kind of? rewrote it from the middle down? i dont even know if it flows i just know that i am Very Tired
> 
> i hope its ok nonetheless
> 
> therell be more mention of the other characters in the next chapter. might change the rating since im not sure what i want to do with the next chapter but here goes

They call it liquid confidence for a reason.

Reason one: it tastes like quiet resignation and regret and though it burns on the way down, though it leaves a sickening tang at the back of your tongue and makes your toes curl in distaste, it fills you with a sense of false grandeur, makes you think you can do things you _really_ can’t. Makes you think that the things you say are reasonable and that you won't get smacked for them when you aren't about to topple over all on your own. It is a watered-down boldness, and it evaporates with time.

Reason two: the next morning, when it has seeped out of your being and you can’t remember half the shit you did, but she comes to your door looking like _that_ , well – any confidence you may have does a great impression of rain falling into a drain, washed away to who-knows-where and sure to never return. It leaves your limbs limp and your head heavy and that resignation-regret combo shot starts to taste like bile and an apology you aren't quite ready to give, maybe never will be.

Aomine Daiki has an all new appreciation for the way water can fall, sink into the earth, and escape the gaze she was giving him. Because he knew he deserved it, and that was the worst part of it all.

 

\----

 

It was a bad idea from the start.

Slurring Kagami, impassive and probably mildly disapproving Kuroko, giggling and sniffling Kise – it was nothing but a horrible idea. Nothing about it was good, or even mildly decent, and yet Aomine still went along.

-

 _“What is your_ problem _?!” she shrieks, and Aomine feels himself twitch all over, feels the wrong-words-not-now bubbling up in him, feels something stupid and terrible and not-supposed-to-happen coming dangerously close to the surface._

_“He doesn’t deserve you,” he says, and though he knows that what she thinks he means is not at all what he does mean, he makes no move to correct himself._

_The flint and the kindling – they would both burst into dangerous flames soon, but there was no telling who would ignite first._

-

He downed one drink, another, a few shots, and then another draft for good measure. Maybe it was just so that he stopped noticing that Kuroko noticed. Maybe it was just so that he could drown out the tittering notes of her voice, still echoing unpleasantly in his head.

(Maybe he was drowning guilt, but he didn’t entertain that thought long enough to even understand what it might have implicated.)

-

_She’s crying, and he keeps ignoring her, keeps acting as if he can’t see her breaking down in his own goddamn bedroom, and he wonders idly if she’s going to stop soon, so he can watch his show. He wonders again, out loud this time, and the look of disgust she adorns makes something in him twist painfully._

-

Even the already-drunk assholes along with him had begun to question whether they should’ve been spurring him on or slowing him down, but Aomine was dangerous sober, let alone drunk. It was smarter – and safer – to just make sure he stayed out of anyone’s way, and vice versa.

He didn’t stop downing brown liquors, and he didn’t start talking.

His fingers shook.

(It’s the alcohol; it’s definitely the alcohol, nothing else. They give him curious looks and he still feels the ghost of the shrill tones of her voice in its betrayal, sticking pins and knives into his spine.)

-

 _“I hate you,” she whispers, and he glances up. Satsuki’s said it before, plenty of times, as they shout at each other and go about their daily, petty battles. But this time – it sits differently, the way her voice hangs low and dangerous, the way she looks almost perplexed by the revelation herself. As if, this time, she really_ does _hate him, and is only just now discovering that for herself. That writhing knot in his gut dislodges and punches its way to his throat, effectively suffocates him, deems him speechless. He’s looking at her, and she looks at him, dead in the eye._

_“I hate you,” Satsuki says again, and he’s nearly positive that she means it._

-

He didn’t stagger when he stood, and so he violently denied any help the others tried to give him, storming of the bar with a sudden, unprecedented rage. There were words, now, bubbling under the surface – words that he would regret, most likely, but that thought didn’t occur to him. All he knew was that the words felt of the utmost urgency, like they needed to be said, soon, or he’d burst, or wither away, or sink into the earth like the water he so desperately envies but at the wrong time, wrong time, _wrong time_.

He was pissed. Aomine was seriously pissed – with Satsuki, with himself, with the way her “ _Goodnight, Aomine-kun_ ,” was distant and impersonal and more of a goodbye than he’d ever heard pass those lips. She’d bowed to him, spoken his name like she’d known him less that the decade and change they had, like he wasn’t an idiot who needed her and she wasn’t a moron who had put up with that fact for too long. He was pissed because he knew exactly whose fault it was that the door clicked quietly shut behind her – he was pissed because quiet was not an angry Satsuki, it was a finished Satsuki. It was a young, lovely girl who had done too much, passed her limit. It was clipping the wire of a time bomb, refusing to allow it to explode in the arduous game of wind-me-up, knock-me-out that they’d been playing their whole damn lives.

Fingers shaking, the young man dug into his pockets, all of them, more than a few times, before he finally found his cell phone. The numbers before him were blurry but hers was sickeningly clear in his head. If he were an inch closer to sober, he might’ve cared about that fact, but Daiki was much too busy trying not to fall as he balanced himself on the wall of a building, phone held (mostly) to his ear as he waits for her to answer.

“Hello?”

If he were one shot less drunk, he might’ve heard how her voice shook, how hoarse she sounded, how quiet.

“Satsuki.”

Her breath hitched, sharp and angry, and he was one shot too sober to miss it. She snapped something at him, probably demeaning and unladylike, but he didn’t hear, as he was too busy speaking over her, slurred as his watered-down words sloshed against the back of his teeth, unceremoniously tumbling from his mouth as if they couldn’t stop. And they couldn’t – he couldn’t. Aomine kept speaking and speaking, digging his grave deeper as the whiskey and something-or-another tightened the knot in his stomach and loosened the one in his tongue.

“He didn’t deserve you,” he started; he spoke clearly enough to maybe fool Momoi that he knew how he was going to end. “I stand by that shit. You’re perfectly fucking smart, Satsuki, you know what I’m saying. I know you know. And you know exactly what you do deserve.”

He paused, to make sure she was still there. The breaking was shaky, and he didn’t know (nor care, really) whether that was for the sake of tears or anger.

His voice felt solid, even if he knew he didn’t sound nearly as clear-headed as he felt. He kept going.

-

_“Don’t go out with him.”_

_Satsuki turns and stares at her friend, incredulous and just the slightest bit miffed. “Why are you so adamant about this? It’s just a date! You don’t need me around all the time, do you? Geez, Dai-chan!”_

_And that was how it started - innocent, teasing, and then things started to fall apart and fall from lips and fall from grace and fall in love, and he begins to wonder just how worth it all of this really was._

-

Daiki stepped carelessly through too few words, telling her how he didn't need her if all she was going to do was let herself get used. How he didn't know how she expected him to care for her when she didn't bother to take care of herself first and foremost.

It wasn't what he meant to say.

“You’re an idiot for the things you let him do to you.” _Why are you letting yourself get hurt when I know you’re smart enough to avoid it?_

“I don’t need you crying about this all the damn time.” _I know I should be able to help you but I can’t and I hate that._

“Your blubbering is obnoxious.” _I don’t understand you. Why can’t I understand you?_

“You don’t deserve him.” _You are a queen, a fucking monarch, and anyone who treats you lesser than that is undeserving – why won’t you realize?_

He didn’t know when he’d stopped caring about his mild slurring – his enunciation still wasn’t prim nor proper, but something in him had sobered as the dull drizzle began to send chilled tremors through his form.

“I’m not gonna tell you that I’m in love with you, ‘cause that’s bullshit. And even if I was, I wouldn’t know, nor would I really give a shit.” She was quiet now, listening, and he could almost imagine that perfectly-kept brow line dipping with concentrated confusion, diluted version of that look she got on the sidelines when she was analyzing a game. Aomine took that as encouragement, swallowed a chuckle, and kept going; the rain was beginning to wash the confidence out of him, and if he didn’t finish soon, he might never do so.

“You deserve to be a spoiled brat who won’t walk through puddles in her new heels, and you deserve someone who puts up with that shit but gives you hell for it.” The words are heavy, and so is his voice, and he can only thank his build that he could drink so much and still stumble but never slur. She at least had a chance of taking him seriously if he was talking comprehensibly.

Aomine sighed, and it sounded like she was about to respond, which he really wasn’t up for dealing with at the moment. “Goodnight, Satsuki,” was the best he could manage, a deadpan of a goodbye like she’d given him, and he didn’t have enough wits left about him to feel smug about her blatant spluttering on the other end of the line before he snapped the phone shut.

He returned inside, ignored the worried stares of his friends, and ordered a taller drink.

-

_“I think I might be in love with you,” she says, and Daiki stops what he’s doing, looking at her with a slow-burning intensity that Satsuki isn’t sure she likes when directed at her._

_“Oh?” is his answer, nonchalant and yet somehow even heavier than the gaze he still had trained on her. She, of course, turns a few shades of red under the scrutiny, shifting anxiously where she sat on his bed, the room suddenly too hot for her liking._

_“I – yes! Maybe,” she snaps, defensive and suddenly a bit embarrassed. She pouts, crosses her arms over her chest, and his chuckle is there, like usual, but his stare doesn’t lose it’s rather scary tension, boring into her as if she’d become a new world wonder – or a worthy basketball opponent, which was, in reality, even worse._

_He doesn’t answer, just hums, but it is a hum of interest, which is of interest to her, in turn. She didn’t expect much of a reaction, anyways – but she did have a few things she wanted to try._

_Besides, what girl didn’t get a little pleasure out of baiting a guy into an answer?_

-

It struck him that he wasn’t drunk when calling her the first time, but simply inebriated. Determined to fix that, the man downed so many drinks he couldn’t see straight, let alone think, or move, or anything. Her number was still a well-worn path of his thumb across phone keys, though, and that second time, when he called her, he slurred and stumbled over his words in a satisfyingly embarrassing manner.

He did not tell her he loved her, but he told her voicemail that if he was going to love anyone, it damn well better be Satsuki Momoi, or it simply wasn’t worth the effort.

The incessant beeping he got in response wasn't exactly reassuring, but he was three shots too drunk to mind, liquid confidence seeping through his veins.


End file.
